Wonder Woman: Awakening
by DahliaASant
Summary: Diana is recruited by Bruce Wayne to embark on a new adventure: the beginning of the Justice League. Takes place after the Wonder Woman and Batman vs. Superman movies. Bruce x Diana / Wonder Woman x Batman
1. Chapter 1

Wayne Manor was nestled in the lush green outskirts of Gotham, barely visible from her vantage point on the gently winding road. Diana clutched the steering wheel as she drove; eyes deliberately poised forward, foot pressed at the brake. Her seatbelt was probably too tight on her torso—her own lasso would not wind this tight! —but precautions were always best. She had learned how to drive a short time ago, and she still avoided it whenever possible.

If it were up to her, she would continue riding horses, but there weren't enough to use nowadays. How she missed Themyscira and its many conveniences. She passed acres of rolling green hills, dotted with trees and shrubs, the lawn carefully manicured. Was this truly the home of a hero? The home of Batman?

His invitation had been abrupt, yet she accepted out of curiosity. She remembered his e-mail, her stunned silence at the photograph appearing on her computer screen—an ancient relic in the digital world. It haunted her like a ghost, the faces of her comrades in World War I. Her own face, a face light with hope and anticipation, one that had not yet been weighed down by humanity's struggles. And, most of all, the face that still haunted her every night, that made her dreams whole and her waking empty. She stared at Steve's face for what felt like hours, before she typed her response:

 _Thank you for bringing him back to me._

Diana snapped back to attention, stopping her convertible just before the arched gates of Wayne Manor. She pulled the window down and squinted at the intercom before her. No matter how many things she learned—typing had been easier than anticipated, and computers were still a mystery she unraveled more of each day—there was always something new to discover. Humans were ingenious at their inventions.

She pressed the brightest thing she could find on the intercom—the red buzzer—and smiled as she saw that it worked.

"I am here to see Bruce Wayne."

Without any reply, the gate swung open. Diana shifted the gear into drive and pulled into the manor's curved driveway. She walked a flight of stairs through heavy, double doors that were surprisingly opened. Cautiously, she reached into her trench coat and felt the hilt of her blade, her heels clacking loudly against the marble floors.

She realized she had walked straight into a room.

"Bruce Wayne." Her voice ricocheted from the hollow walls, lost in the empty spaces and high ceilings. The room was enormous, and dimly lit. It reminded her of a cave. A hodgepodge of antique furniture was scattered about; brightly colored loveseats, gothic style floor lamps, a large oak table, a grandfather clock flanked by huge wooden dressers. She touched the lasso at her side instinctively, expecting a bear to come stampeding through the front door.

"In the flesh." Bruce's voice echoed as he emerged from the shadows of a nearby hall, wearing a polo shirt and slacks. His hands were in his pockets—he appeared every bit the entrepreneur, without a single shred of evidence he was a superhero.

Puzzled, Diana cocked her head, "Are we not all in the flesh?"

Bruce paused for a moment, a slight smile forming on his lips. She realized it was some kind of slang, a _saying_ as they called it. He nodded, to humor her, "I suppose that goes without saying. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the loveseat at her right. She glanced warily at it, an elaborate piece of upholstery with red leather cushions.

"I would much prefer to stand."

Bruce nodded, crossing his arms. "Fair enough."

They stood as competitors in a ring, arms crossed, eyeing one another. It reminded her of better days, standing in the open fields of Themyscira, the wind billowing in her hair; her eyes squinting from sunlight and wary precision, sizing up the warrior across from her. Her greatest worry back then had been the poise of her stance, the quickness of her feet; where her blade would land, what her lasso could hook at such a short distance.

She took a step towards him, her head raised, "You do not look like Batman. Not even your mannerisms. You hide yourself well."

His smile was genuine, then—rows of pearly white teeth, followed by a chuckle. She could see women finding him handsome.

"I suppose I do my job well, then. It isn't easy owning Gotham during the day, and defending it at night."

He sat down on the red loveseat next to her, then patted the empty spot. Diana hesitated for a moment, before deciding he was no threat. She sat beside him, poised toward the corner.

"You live here alone?" The question was meant to be open-ended; _wives? Girlfriends? Children?_

He nodded briskly, "If you don't count Alfred. I prefer it. Being alone suits me, don't you think?" Another charming smile.

She shook her head. "I find it odd that attractive men do not have a woman for pleasure, or do not procreate."

"Well, that is quite blunt of you, isn't it?"

It was Diana's turn to smirk. "Unfortunately, after years of being around your people, I still have not grown accustomed to jokes and sarcasm."

"But you _have_ fooled many people by blending in, Diana. I found that very fascinating. And…even more fascinating?"

There it was, pulled from his pants pocket: the black and white, tattered photo that brought both tears to her eyes and warmth to her heart. Gingerly, she reached out to grab it from his hands. As if to taunt her, Bruce pulled it away, keeping it in her line of vision:

"I want to know."

Diana nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. Fair enough.

"You wanted me to tell you my story. Well, here it is."

She told him of Zeus and Ares, of the endless power of the gods and of her mother, Hippolyta; the Great Plains of Themyscira, the beauty of its nature and the beauty of its Amazons. She told him with an aching heart and trembling voice the day the plane fell into the ocean, and she saved the man who held her heart in his hands, only to crush it with his death. She told him, in great detail, her struggle to end the first World War, the battle with Ares, the discovery that she, too, was a god.

"But Ares was not the cause of the war," She murmured, and she found herself pulling the photo from her pocket and gazing at herself, 100 years ago. "The humans were the fuel to his fire. Although I killed Ares, World War II, the evil of Hitler...still happened."

Her words ended abruptly, consumed by an emptiness that wrapped her soul within its long limbs.

Bruce pierced the silence like a bullet. "It sounds like you haven't fought for some time. Like you haven't fought since you helped us fight Lex Luthor and Doomsday."

"I haven't," she responded, "Not for quite some time. I don't even keep track of these…years." The word still felt alien to her tongue. Her eyes focused on the grandfather clock in the corner, a brilliant mahogany framework that looked as sculpted as a Grecian statue, "Time has no meaning for me. Time passes, it ebbs and flows, yet humanity continues to kill itself. Ares has been long dead, and yet the evil grows. It is a weed, a root that is embedded deep within civilization. I don't know how to stop it. I have searched for the answer since Steve's death, and I am none the wiser."

Bruce studied her for a moment. Appearing as if he made up his mind, he stood up and dropped the picture onto his vacated seat. Diana grabbed it as Bruce strolled over to a nearby dresser, pulling a bottle of whiskey from a glass cabinet. He poured himself a generous amount, then gestured to Diana, who raised a hand in polite refusal.

"Diana," he spoke between sips, "Do you know the story of Adam and Eve? You have told me the legends of the Gods, let me tell you of this legend of the human race."

"Adam and Eve," she repeated, fingers absently stroking the time worn photo. Diana's eyes gazed intently at Steve's, enough to burn holes through his once brilliant blue irises. Again, the tightening in her throat— _Ares be damned—_ and she looked back up at Bruce.

"So be it, Bruce Wayne. Tell me of your legend of Adam and Eve."

He told her of God creating the first human, Adam, and fashioning Eve from his rib, of the devil's temptation in the Tree of Knowledge, of Eve's desire to be godlike, to be all-knowing, of her first mortal sin. He told her of the shame they felt to know they were suddenly naked, how God punished and banished them to Earth.

"Humans are flawed," He spoke slowly, "Since Eve's time, they have sinned. They make countless mistakes, they live and die, they bleed and kill. They suffer…and they feel pain." Diana's eyes wandered back to the loveseat, the bright cushion a fluorescent red under the dim lights. She refused to let him see the tears building in her eyes.

"If they are so flawed," She retorted, "Why do we defend them?"

"Because we hope that there are more good ones than bad," His response was swift, earnest—he met her gaze again, and to her surprise, his hand swept forward to grasp hers. At first, Diana instinctively went to swat it away, yet she allowed him to hold it. He squeezed, hard.

"I have been fighting for the people of Gotham for decades, Diana. I have seen the most innocent of people become corrupt, but more than this, I have seen innocent women and children die at the hands of murderers. I have seen people get robbed and raped and disemboweled at the hands of other human beings. _Not_ gods, but _humans_. But there _are_ good people out there. They continue to outnumber the bad. And as horrible as it is, this devastation and crime and endless death-" He trailed off and she found herself staring intently at him.

"It is worth every day of suffering, if I could save one more innocent life."

He clasped her hand between both of his, voice lowering to a whisper, "Because _I believe_ , even if it seems impossible, that humans are good at their core. I believe that we must protect this goodness, as flawed as they are. There is a light, Diana, and that is our job. We must protect the light; we must keep the darkness from destroying it. There was a purpose to Steve's death, and It was to keep humanity safe. To keep humanity pure."

Diana stared at Bruce, and it seemed as if she truly saw him for the first time. The dim light bounced off his time-worn gaze, a face that had seen far too much violence, too much death. Wrinkles etched into his skin, crow's feet beneath his eyes, a line of gray stubble across his jawline. He took great care of himself, took pride in his façade as the impeccable businessman—yet it was there, in plain sight.

If you looked hard enough, you could see the eyes of Batman behind Bruce Wayne; the weary, war-torn eyes. Eyes that shone of sacrifice and strength—a strength that still burned bright to this day, inevitably dimmed by the passage of time.

"Strange, how you haven't aged in hundreds of years."

Bruce's gaze was still on her, admiring her. Despite this, she refused to look away. If Diana had learned one successful thing about human civilization, it was that eye contact meant dominance.

"Bruce," She nearly hissed, "What is this about? Why did you bring me here, besides asking me to tell you my story, and giving me this photo?"

The billionaire broke his stare, appearing self-conscious of his actions.

"I wanted to see you in person again. And I wanted to ask you to come to light and show yourself to humans as you _really_ are: not just as Diana Price, but as their hero."

Diana scoffed. A smile played on her lips as she looked back down at the crumpled photo, then up at Bruce. His glass of whiskey was almost empty—she could smell it on him.

"I once defended humanity for the sake of Steve." Her eyes softened as she spoke, and she felt her fingers tremble, "He taught me that humanity still has goodness in it. Perhaps…I can begin again. But to be known by all of your Gotham, and every other city? I once took down an entire battalion in the first World War, and the village knew me. They thanked me. They honored me. I... I felt like a god, like a true hero."

Bruce raised her hand, brought it between the two of them, as if he were making a pact.

"Then you can join me again, Diana. Join _us._ Join us in spreading justice. In upholding peace."

Bruce's eyes turned blue before her, his face warping into a different person. His touch was warm, like the touch of the man she loved a century ago. She recalled the first time he held her, the first time his lips touched hers, in the middle of nowhere, a village they had saved together from the ravages of war. She remembered how he stroked her face, how he confessed his love for her…how she felt truly godlike, in his arms, to be loved and prized and treated like a perfect being. She felt godlike, yet she felt human, too. Love had been so fragile, so precious, yet so breakable. And in there was the nature of humanity; to love, to prosper, to simultaneously suffer and decay. She observed it in every person she had met in her life—every fallible boy and girl, with their own dreams and desires, whittled away by old age and mortality. She even saw it in Bruce; in his strong guise, marred by time.

Was this worth defending? This feeble human nature?

 _Yes._

That fragility was precisely what made it precious—the fact it was so fleeting, so fragile. Her love for Steve, a love that continued to burn after one hundred years, remained even though his body had not. And as long as his spirit, as long as his _love r_ emained inside of her, she would fight. She would fight for this race, she would protect the innocent, she would defend as she was taught in Themyscira; as she was taught by Steve.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I will defend this world. I will join you. Together, we will defend the human race, as I did before with World War 1, and 2, and many other battles. For I am Diana of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyta, and daughter of Zeus."

Bruce's smile looked young again. The firelight flickered in his eyes with delight; a passion she had only seen on the battlefield.

"We would be honored to have you, Diana of Themyscira. Welcome to the Justice League."


	2. Chapter 2

The moon hung low over Smallville, its silver sheen a guillotine cutting through the horizon. A farmhouse lay admist the acres of empty land, the lights dim inside. There was no sign of life in the countryside, not even the stagnant air which shrouded the land in a thick, heavy mist.

A patch of dirt lay in the land, a singular black mark to interrupt the green and yellows of crops. Martha Kent would come to its side every day, tears in her eyes. She would wail and grab at her fine gray hair, rock back and forth in sheer agony over the grave. She would call Clark's name over and over, until her voice ran hoarse at night's end and the sky began to fill with the blue light of dawn. Then, crippled with defeat, she would hobble back to the farmhouse, pull herself beneath the sheets and sleep until nightfall came.

That night, the fog curled close to the grave, reaching fingerlike tendrils upon the earth. Pale stalks of wheat craned forward with the strength of the sudden wind, billowing to life with no sign of a coming storm. The wind blew backwards, then, strong enough to jerk several stalks from their roots and into the air.

It was as if the Earth itself had exhaled.

As if possessing a mind of its own, specks of dirt began to rise from the grave. The rise was gradual; milimeters, then centimers, then inches, then a full foot. Molecules that formed the winds began to bond, grew into atoms, and the dirt rose higher, levitating to three feet.

Memories flickered through the air; memories that belonged to no one, memories that belonged to everyone. Abandoned thoughts, broken dreams were brought to life in full technicolor— _the bright red of her hair the sky blue of her eyes the beast snarling down the stabbing pain through cracked ribs and burning insides the thick warmth of blood pooling and filling his throat the drowning the falling—_

The entire grave floated mid-air, the dirt hanging in a perfect rectangle above the ground. A fist emerged from the grave, grabbed onto the edge, digging ruddy, dirt-streaked fingers into the earth. The strength of the fist connecting with the ground shot a surge of pure energy through the horizon. The ground rumbled and cracked ten feet behind the grave, earth separating in a miniature quake.

 _Lois._

The voice was in the air, and then it was in the sky, and then it could be heard for miles across the farmland, a deep rumbling echo that reverberated across the fog; pierced it like a knife.

Kal-El pulled himself fully from the grave, levitating away from the floating dirt. With a flick of his wrist, the dirt fell back into the grave in a perfect rectangle. He glanced at the farmhouse, and his attention snapped back to something far off in the horizon. He stared at the moon, and what lay beyond—

And in an instant, he was gone.

"If the gods could speak to me from the skies, I would have all the answers."

Diana clasped her hands against the railing of the balcony, peering up at the crescent moon with wide eyes and bated breath. Her mind swam with an endless torrent of thoughts; wondering if she should truly participate in this battle to protect the human race, wondering if this battle ever truly had an end.

For 100 years, she had observed mankind destroy one another.

For 100 years, wars had not come to an end; instead, they changed shape and form. The first world war became the second, the second became Vietnam, Vietnam became terrorist attacks and cyber attacks and chemical warfare. Human weapons evolved from a simple musket to the ability to decimate millions of lives with the push of a button.

She missed the purity of Themyscira. She missed the naive Diana, the girl with bright eyes who knew nothing of the human world, who wanted nothing more than to protect those in trouble, to defend the innocent, to slay the evildoers. Her world had been in shades of black and white.

Humankind was gray.

Diana wondered if Hippolyta was watching the same moon tonight. She wondered if she still thought of her daughter after a long century had passed.

She wondered if Hippolyta was still alive to begin with.

When she had left Themyscira, it had been unguarded. Her god powers had destroyed the forcefield that cloaked them from the radar of humans. Now, with modern day death machines, she wondered if any of the Amazons were left standing.

She wondered if they would still recognize her.

Would they regard her as a great hero?

Would they dismiss her as a mere human?

Diana froze. Her thoughts were diverted with the sound of breathing behind her. Her ears pricked, and the sound grew closer. Within seconds, she had whipped around and pulled her shield before her torso, her sword pointed straight at her assailant.

She realized she was holding the blade's tip against Alfred Pennyworth's throat.

The butler had a tray in his hands, a cup of tea and kettle adorning its surface. The tray shook in his hands, yet his gaze remained steady as he offered Diana a composed smile.

"I am sorry to have frightened you," He responded carefully, his incongruously calm demeanor unnerving her. "It is 4 in the morning and I noticed you hadn't gone up to your bed chambers. I thought I would check to see if things were alright, and offer you a spot of freshly brewed tea. Perhaps it would help you sleep faster."

Hesitantly, Diana lowered the blade to the ground.

"I thank you, Alfred." She stepped back as Alfred placed the tray on a stone pedestal nearby. "May I ask why you are up, at such a late hour?"

"I rarely get any sleep nowadays," Alfred spoke cheerily, filling the teacup and stirring its contents with a spoon. "If you stayed in Wayne Manor for long, Diana, you would also lose sleep. Master Bruce is constantly away once night falls, off to Gotham or Metropolis, or god knows where else. I am left here to protect the Manor, should anyone try to infiltrate while he is away."

Diana smiled at Alfred's friendly demeanor, momentarily letting her guard down. He seemed trustworthy and amiable; different from the other humans she had met.

"And you are trained in the ways of protection, Alfred?"

"I am a warrior of the mind, miss Prince," He pointed to his head, his brows furrowing almost comically, "Master Bruce may have power, yet I have the intellect."

"I will not tell him you insulted him in such a manner." Alfred chuckled as she grinned and accepted the teacup from him, holding it steady between her hands.

They did not expect the gunshot, nor did they expect the bullet to whiz straight through the air at alarming speed, breaking the teacup between Diana's hands with perfect precision.

The second bullet flew past Diana's head, ripping clean through Alfred's shoulder in a matter of seconds. Blood splashed the marble wall behind him as he staggered, grabbing onto his oozing wound, eyes wide and brows furrowed in pain. Diana whipped forward and caught the volley of bullets on her wristguards—a second later and they would have hit her chest.

" _Alfred_!"

She grabbed Alfred and ran towards the end of the balcony, ducking her head as another barrage of bullets flew past, their impact strong enough to crack holes into the marble. She held him against her torso as she threw herself into the room, with no time to shut the glass door. Just as they reached the inside, the glass shattered into shining daggers on the ground, two thick pieces cutting into her calf as she slid low across the floor. Thankfully, Alfred had not been hit by the glass—she pulled him against a chaise, examined the bullet wound on his shoulder.

"If there's an exit wound," Alfred wheezed, struggling to maintain a weak smile, "Then I will be...just fine."

"You must rest," Diana insisted, tearing at the shoulder of her nightgown. In an effort to suppress the bleeding, she pulled a long piece of torn fabric and wrapped it around Alfred's shoulder in a tight knot. Just as she did this, a hail of gunfire shot holes into the wall above them, and she ducked again as plaster covered them in fine white dust.

Diana shoved Alfred out to the hallway, yelling for him to run. She then pulled her sword and shield forward and dove off the balcony, through the shattered window. As if on queue, her jump was met with more gunshots, which she deflected by pushing her shield before her face. Hot adrenaline coursed through her veins as she flew through the air, the bullets ricocheting off her shield, her blade poised towards the target.

She landed on the lush greenery of the manor's gardens.

There was no shooter to be found.

Diana's eyes narrowed as she examined the garden in a slow-moving circle, the shield held before her. She felt eyes on her in the thick darkness, though she could not pinpoint where.

"Show yourself!" She screamed into the blackness, pulling her lasso to her side as a light. Its bright glow illuminated a foot ahead of her.

Then, she heard it; a rustling in the trees, the unmistakable sound of footfalls nearby. Diana crept forward, the rustling growing stronger. To her surprise, the shooter ran behind the trees with super speed, jumping mid-air and landing on the balcony railing from where she had just come.

She jumped upwards and shot through the air, grabbing onto the balcony railing and somersaulting back inside the room. Fallen plaster rendered clouds of smoke that caused her eyes to water. As Diana gazed wildly about for the shooter, her sword swinging through the air, her eyes caught sight of a nearby mirror. Her eyes locked with the shooter's before another hail of bullets shot towards her. She dodged in time as the bullets shattered the mirror, yet she lost her footing and fell hard to the ground, her sword and shield falling from her grip.

Shouting in frustration, Diana looked up at the attacker.

The man was fully visible in the moonlight. He was abnormally tall, towering above her, black hair covered with a black bandana, eyes a steel gray. The machine gun was part of his arm, fused with a mishmash of his own blue veins and mechanical wires. A six inch blade protruded from the top of the gun, and as he approached her, he aimed the blade and gun straight toward her head.

Diana shuffled backwards, her mind racing frantically as she glared defiantly at the approaching man. Her blade had been knocked aside, her shield in the opposite corner. She could not reach them in time.

In the darkness, she could see him smile.

Then, he stopped. His eyes widened with a look of shock, as Diana noticed the wire that wrapped around his ankle. The wire pulled to the left, and took the man with it: he was flung into a wall, his body connecting with plaster in a violent thud. Batman emerged from the dark corner of the room, approaching the man as quickly as his heavy armor allowed him to. The shooter struggled to pull himself up, and as he got to his knees, Batman's fist connected with the man's face, pushing him back to the ground. Diana took the distraction and shuffled towards her sword and shield, grabbing them before whipping quickly around.

To her surprise, the man had recovered quickly from Batman's attack, swinging a blade at the end of his gun towards the hero. Batman grabbed his gun arm and delivered an uppercut beneath his chin, sending his head snapping backwards. Somehow he managed to break free from his grip and swing his blade arm again, and Diana gasped as the blade connected with Batman's arm, stabbing through to his upper arm. He screamed in a mixture of pain and rage.

Just as the man did this, Diana's lasso wrapped around his throat. He refused to pull away from Batman's arm, yet he was stuck by the lasso, which she tightened savagely around his neck, until he began gasping for air. Instinctively, he pulled the blade from Batman's arm and struggled to cut at the lasso. Diana pulled the lasso with another strong jerk and relished the look on the man's face as he turned towards her; his eyes bulged, his face a shade of blue.

As his panicked gaze connected with hers, she took her blade in her right hand and swung it down on his arm.

The man shrieked in pain as her blade connected with his flesh. A hail of bullets rang wildly through the air, causing Batman to duck behind his cape, while Diana swung downwards one final time, her teeth grit in determination. His forearm flew to the ground, the bullets completely emptied, the machine gun coming to a stop. Blood sprayed from his wound in thick pellets as stumbled backwards, Diana's loosening her grip on the lasso.

Alfred emerged behind the man and hit him square in the head with a vase. He fell forward in a heap, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. The three of them cautiously ambled forward, hands on their wounds. Batman pulled the mask from his face, scowling down at the unconscious attacker.

"Is he a metahuman?" Diana asked, the adrenaline of combat still rushing through her veins.

Bruce kicked at the severed gun arm laying a few inches from the man's body.

"Well, if he is, he isn't one of the good ones. His arm looks manmade. Something a mad scientist would concoct."

"A scientist like Doctor Psycho," Diana mused. Bruce looked inquisitively at her, yet she shook her head, "She is no longer alive, but it reminds me of her methods."

She got back to her feet, her poise strong and resolute.

"When he comes to, I will interrogate him." Her lasso glowed a bright white, as if to agree with her words.

"Goodness, you two, you would think you are ready to rest after all this ruckus."

Alfred walked inbetween them, his hands full with gauze, rubbing alcohol, hot towels, and a threading kit for stitches. Diana's shallow wounds were closing on their own, yet she eyed the hot towel for comfort as fatigue began to overtake her.

"We have had an interesting night," Bruce concurred, sitting on a bench and pulling his suit from his skin. He winced as he did so, the blood sticking rubber and metal to his torn flesh. As Alfred diligently began to work on his wound, inserting a needle into his flesh, Diana walked toward the balcony, staring out into the darkness. The first signs of dawn were approaching, slivers of gold and scarlet threading the horizon.

She grabbed the balcony again, as she had done hours ago, her grip white-knuckled, her gaze resolute.

All she could see was the redness of blood; the redness of war.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce opened his eyes, and the world before him was an arid wasteland.

He stood ankle deep in desert sands, stretching for miles beyond the naked eye. The sun's heat was arid and stifling, burning through his skin like fire to his bones. He was unsure of how long he had been standing here, or _how_ he had gotten here, but his tongue was dry against his mouth as if he had spent hours in this same spot. The vigilante was still dressed in his Batsuit, leather stuck to his limbs by sweat like a second skin. The newly stitched wound on his arm stung from perspiration.

He touched his face tentatively to find that he was not wearing his mask— _had it fallen somehow? Was there some kind of struggle?_

Walking forward, Bruce looked warily about him, searching his suit for any weaponry. _None._

He walked on the balls of his feet as he trudged through the wasteland, alert for any potential ambush. Shadows cast humanlike figures across the ground, causing him to startle—yet they were merely the reflection of cactii and palm trees.

"Where am I?"

Bruce said the words aloud to give breath to his confusion. As he walked, he began to see an oddly familiar landscape. On either side of him, rubble—the derelict remains of buildings lay strewn about the sand. His fists clenched as he stopped to examine the ruins, making out the warped steel beam of what was once a stop sign. His gaze followed the dunes a mile ahead of him as he began to see objects in the horizon.

The ruins of skyscrapers, looming tombstones against the skyline.

"I've been here before."

The deja vu filled him with dread, his chest tightening as if a fist had clenched his heart, the pulsating chambers pumping adrenaline through his body. Pinpricks of sweat gathered at the back of his neck, his upper lip—his eyes narrowed as he realized he could see a nearby cliff. Bruce followed the dead trail, his body tense. As he stood at the crag's edge, his gaze loomed upon a gigantic symbol etched within the sand, spanning hundreds of feet across the land.

 _Omega._

 _Bruce._

His name.

Someone called his name.

Bruce looked wildly about him; towards the ruins; behind him. His cape swished in the air as he turned, the only other sound he could hear. Then—

Something else.

The sound of something...flying?

Something swooping through the air, faster than an airplane, yet smaller.

 _Bruce._

It was a dark shape. It whizzed through the air like a bullet, yet it had a human frame.

A human face. A cape. A hero's suit.

Its eyes were red, glowing hot magma suspended in two eye sockets, and as Bruce stared up into its face, his jaw dropped as the magma shot out, formed two laser beams that flew straight towards him, and he could feel their intense heat already, ten times hotter than the sun, a heat so strong it was made to kill.

It would burn through his skin, muscles and tendons, penetrating bone to disintegrate the atoms within, to render any object from matter to oblivion, to destroy anything that it could reach—

 _Bruce!_

Bruce shouted, barrelling forward to dodge the beams as quickly as he could. Two hands grabbed onto his wrists, crossed them with a quick, fluid motion. His vision refocused and he was staring straight up at a marble ceiling, cool air caressing his hot face. Sweat covered his body from head to toe, the warm liquid dripping down his nose, onto his shirt.

Diana stared down at him, her brows furrowed in a look of both concern and confusion. She still wore her nightgown from the attack on Wayne Manor, complete with rips and shredded spaghetti straps.

"Are you all right?"

"I..." The caped crusader shook his head, willing his mental focus to return to reality, willing his mind to realize he was laying in his own bed, and Diana Prince was staring down at him.

"I...I'm fine...are you..." Bruce winced as he noticed where exactly Diana was.

She was sitting directly on top of him, straddling him between her legs, crouched over as she grabbed hold of his wrists.

"Are you...straddling me...?"

Diana's lip curled. She dropped his wrists and raised an eyebrow, "I only meant to protect you from yourself. You were shaking in your sleep."

"Well," Bruce retorted smoothly, his body relaxing as he realized he was in no imminent danger, "I don't mind this position at all, Miss Prince."

"What position are you referring to, Mr. Wayne?"

"Nevermind," Bruce chuckled, as the Amazon pulled herself away from him to stand at his bedside.

"Are you all right, Bruce? Are you sick?"

She took one of Alfred's washcloths and pressed it to Bruce's head. Although still shaken from his dream, he mused at Diana's innocence. She fought and killed the most evil of men, she was easily thousands of years old, yet she was not the slightest acclimatized to human culture...let alone human lusts.

"How is it that you have been here for so long, yet you do not know when a man desires you?"

His blunt honesty took them both by surprise. Fleetingly, she froze, before throwing the washcloth aside and crossing her arms, "Do not belittle me, Bruce. I know of these things. I have known them as a child in Themyscira. Yet...I have not met a man worthy of my affections. Not since Steve." Her words, biting and spiteful, softened as she spoke his name.

"Not all these hundreds of years...?"

Diana shook her head, her earnest words disconcerting to the Dark Knight. He had never met a person so honest, especially in a world of violence and vigilantes.

"Bruce, I came here to tell you that the metahuman has regained consciousness. He is with Alfred now."

"Good. Now we can go on and find out who sent him."

As Bruce spoke, he grabbed onto the side of the bed and found his footing. A wave of dizziness suddenly assailed him, his vision blurring. Puzzled, he looked down at his feet and froze.

"Diana. Do you see what I'm seeing?"

The Amazon walked towards his side of the bed, stopping in her tracks. She looked down at his bare feet, then back into his eyes, cocking her head slightly.

His feet were coated to the ankle in sand.

* * *

The day was far from over, yet she was already exhausted.

Lois stared blankly into the computer screen, her bright red hair hanging limply against her neck, head rested in her hand. A full mug of coffee sat by her side, filled with the intent of fueling an important press release, yet ultimately cold and untouched. Forgotten crumbs and abandoned paper balls were strewn about her desk. She breathed a heavy sigh and clicked on the Word document with her mouse, as if it would inspire her to finish the sentence she had struggled with for the past hour.

Martha Kent had called her last night.

She remembered being roused from her deep sleep by the phone ringing, then staring, puzzled, at the Caller ID at 4 a.m. Her stomach had clenched with worry over Martha— _maybe she died, too, of a broken heart?—_ and, filled with trepidation, she answered.

Martha was hysterical.

The grave was empty, she had said.

 _What? I'm sorry, Martha...what do you mean, the grave is empty?_

Clark. Clark is gone.

 _What do you mean Clark is gone?_

He's not here. There's no one in the grave.

The phone call left both Martha and Lois distraught. Her mind swimming with millions of possibilities, she pulled a jacket over her pajamas and drove over to Smallville. There she met Martha, who stood at the porch of the farmhouse, her dog barking at her side as her car rolled up to the yard.

The first thing Lois saw was that Martha was right.

The grave was empty.

The dirt was still there, yet it had been brushed aside, as if it were no longer compactly pressed against the earth. With little weight to hold it, and the fierce winds, most of it had blown away to reveal a hole with nothing but darkness inside.

No coffin.

No Clark.

Lois covered her mouth with her hands. Martha was already sobbing, and as she wailed—a loud, distraught, wail—tears fell down her own face in response.

They had just begun to process Clark's death. They would meet for tea several times a month, check in with one another. Lois grieved by overloading herself with work, constantly devouring the newest gossip, her fingers tirelessly typing away at the latest, hot-off-the-press news at the Daily Planet.

Yet Martha...she could not say that Martha was handling things in a healthy way. She slept during the day, awoke at night.

She was alive, yet she lived with the dead.

But Clark's death had begun to sink in, had begun to feel normal.

And now something utterly abnormal had occurred.

Deep in her thoughts, Lois bit her lip and fingered the ring hanging at her throat. She had taken Clark's ring from Martha, fastened it into a necklace that constantly hung at her side; day or night, awake or asleep.

While working on her latest article, _Pines Dairy Celebates its 11th Year in Metropolis,_ she had opened a separate tab on the internet. In the tab, she Googled and found articles about the wind storm plaguing Smallville last night. The reporter had searched and found the alien conspiracy blogs of Smallville residents, who swore they heard a sonic boom in the countryside, saw a bright flash of light and what looked like a meteor flying through the air.

And then there was the crop circle.

Lois opened up the link on a new tab: _Smallville Residents Claim Aliens Have Returned._

Undoubtedly photographed by a drone, Lois zoomed in on the gigantic crop circle, amassing hundreds of feet in length and width, the markings so neat they appeared carved into fields of wheat by an architect.

It was in the shape of an Omega.

Lois stared at the picture for a few minutes before saving the photo for her records. She had a file she tactfully labelled "Smallville" on her desk, with a password encryption in case any curious coworkers happened upon her laptop.

Her desk phone rang, startling her. She picked up the line and her eyes snapped upwards to meet the eyes of her boss, watching her through the glass of his office window.

"Lois."

"Perry."

Perry sighed on the phone. His hand was tucked in his pocket as he spoke, yet his stance appeared tense.

"Have you finished today's article?"

Lois's eyes widened, and she looked down at her computer screen. The clock read 5:00 pm.

 _Shit._

"Perry, if you give me until tomorrow morning, I'll finish the article tonight at home. It will be perfect, just as you've expected from me."

To Lois' surprise, Perry appeared to shake his head.

"Lois, you've been in a slump since Clark passed away. Why don't you take tonight off, don't worry about the article, and get some rest."

Lois shut her eyes and nodded, "Got it, Perry. Thank you."

Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she grabbed her coffee mug, packed her laptop, and headed out of the office for the day, feeling more anxious than relieved to be off of work.

Her productivity was suffering—she churned out articles that had her usual style yet lacked substance, as if written by a ghostwriter under her name. Perry undoubtedly had noticed, making passive comments as he strode past her desk of the _importance of maintaining the Daily Planet's_ _quality._ Lois constantly felt the eyes of her coworkers upon her; inquisitive, yet too cowardly to inquire about her grief, check in to see how she was feeling.

She didn't care.

Not anymore.

The redhead walked through the congested streets, filled with throngs of people who had left their offices. She felt alien to them all. It was as if she were walking in another dimension, as if her life had ended when Clark's did, and she was trapped in a twilight zone in which she was forced to continue living in a shadow of her former self.

The reporter's mind flitted from Perry's discontent to Clark.

 _Where was he?_

 _Where was his body?_

 _How could he just go missing?_

Perhaps his body had been abducted—by an alien like Zod, some survivor of Krypton. Nothing else seemed to make sense. But what would they want with a dead body?

Endless scenarios circled around her mind, lobbing a rapid fire of thoughts that stabbed at her brain, made her head hurt and her heart ache.

"Watch out!"

The deep, resounding blare of a horn filled her ears.

She craned her head and her eyes widened as a truck came hurtling towards her. Lois threw herself back onto the sidewalk, hitting the pavement on her side as the truck driver cursed at her. Wincing in pain, she stroked her bruised hip.

"Are you all right?"

She looked up to meet the eyes of a concerned couple. The man reached a hand out to help her stand. Instead of taking it, Lois nodded dismissively, plastering a comforting smile on her face. She pulled herself to her feet, struggling to regain balance on her heels, then walked in the opposite direction. She stuck to side streets and alleys while mentally scolding herself for being distracted.

She did not notice the man following her.

* * *

"What's your name?"

The lasso of truth wrapped around the shooter's body in an X; binding both his shoulders and torso against the chair. Dried blood crusted the bottom of his amputated arm, a sheen of sweat coating his face. He had long, shoulder-length black hair and black eyes, a scar marring his face from his left cheek to the bottom of his chin.

He glared at Diana, instinctively struggling against the lasso's grip.

"Fuck you," He hissed, his face contorting in a visible struggle to both insult and spew the truth.

Diana glared back, pulling the lasso tighter. The man grunted and averted his eyes.

" _Fuck...you._ "

Bruce stood nearby, dressed in a linen shirt and slacks. Diana was still in her shredded nightgown. He watched the man writhing in the lasso's grip, the way his eyes rolled and he bit his lip, fighting to quiet his own tongue.

"Mace."

"Pardon me?"

Bruce crossed his arms and grinned, enjoying the attacker's plight. He scowled and shouted, "My _name_ _is Mace!"_

"All right, Mace," Bruce continued, "Why did you come here?"

"I came because I was hired to," Mace growled, kicking his feet forward to no avail, "I was supposed to kill the Batman and the butler, and the woman too. But I was hoping to use her first, have some fun with her before I killed her—"

Diana puched Mace in the nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils, and he grinned, the red streaks sinking into the cracks of his teeth.

"That's enough messing around. You're a mercenary. You know that your situation is grim, and you failed the mission you were on. Better to cooperate with us than try to anger us."

Bruce's logic seemed to quiet Mace, who stiffened in his seat.

"Now," Bruce grasped the handles of Mace's chair, leaning towards him so that his face was a few inches away, "Tell us who you work for."

Mace spat in Bruce's face.

As Bruce recoiled to wipe the spittle from his cheek, Diana leapt forward and punched Mace again. The mercenary shouted and thrashed about in his seat, pushing his weight into the back of the chair. He fell backwards onto the ground, the chair falling with a thud behind him. Mace continued to squirm as if he were in a cocoon, his face a bright, furious red.

"Tell us who you work for." Bruce repeated, walking forward and delivering a swift kick to Mace's torso. The mercenary answered with another scream, " _Fuck...you!"_

Suddenly, the hitman broke free of the lasso. He swung his newly regenerated arm to shoot a volley of bullets at Bruce Wayne. Jumping out of the way, the Dark Knight landed on the other side of the room and threw his Batarang straight for Mace's neck. Within miliseconds, Diana quickly grabbed Mace's hair and pulled his head back as the Batarang stabbed his throat, lodging deep into his jugular vein.

Mace's eyes grew wide as he slumped to his knees one final time. His voice hoarse, gaze resiliently defiant, he whispered his last word: "Omega."

Bruce and Diana watched as he fell to the ground, his eyes blank and lifeless, a pool of blood forming beneath him.

Diana pulled her lasso to her side, eyes downcast. "I do not enjoy the killing of men, yet he fought with no honor." Her words hung sadly in the air.

Bruce's gaze did not leave the man's body. He recalled his dream, the symbol etched within the sands, the flying villain with red eyes. He recalled his visions in the past; visions of a battle in the apocalypse; of endless masses of hostile soldiers and a vengeful Superman.

"What is it?" The Amazon addressed the Dark Knight in the midst of her remorse.

"Omega." He repeated the word slowly, the weight heavy on his tongue, like a curse.

"That was no dream I had. It was the future."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bruce watched Diana as she walked into the batcave for the first time, relishing the widening of her eyes. The batcave was a gargantuan testament of power and technology. Huge computer screens lined the walls, assortments of lethal weaponry filling acres of stone in the subterranean cavern. Rocket launchers, batarangs, batgrenades, missiles and every type of gun imaginable nestled along the rocky crevices, alongside a multitude of batsuits and helmets for every terrain and skirmish. Diana wandered towards the glowing green of a kryptonite batsuit, skittishly touching its jagged surface.

"You made this to fight Superman?"

The billionaire hesitated. His eyes downcast, he nodded. "Back when I thought he was a threat to the world, I did. With all of Metropolis destroyed, and my old friend Lucius dead...well, what logical person wouldn't want take precautions?"

Saying Lucius' name struck a cord of pain in his heart. Lucius, his trusted partner and friend, had engineered the batcave from its modest beginnings as a storehouse for the Wayne family. With Bruce's new identity as Batman, and Lucius' ingenuity, together they had innovated the cave to a weapon of mass destruction, a forerunner of justice to defend the population of Gotham—Metropolis—the world itself.

The man's death had nearly unhinged him. He remembered vengeful nights patrolling the streets, his mind numbed by grief, a raw agony that led him to nothing but the darkest corners of Gotham. He broke his code of no killing, spent on the smashed skulls and bloodied faces of men who were simply thieves, destroying the lives of their families in the process.

But at the time, he didn't care.

He had failed hundreds of people when Metropolis was destroyed—why should anyone else deserve to live?

Why shouldn't anyone else suffer, the way he was suffering?

The manor had been in disarray. It, too, was destroyed by the attack of the Kryptonians on the planet. He hadn't seen a need to fix it, not when his very life as he knew it was reduced to rubble. Not when the innocent face of Lucius flashed before him while he woke and in his dreams. He had found him with Alfred, buried beneath layers of broken pillars at the entrance of his own manor. Lucius had tried to escape, and he had been caught at the last moment by an explosion. All that was left of him was half of his face, twisted arms and a bloodied torso. Bruce had chosen not to let his family see the body—he told them they hadn't found him, and they buried him in the manor grounds.

It was the humane thing to do.

"Lucius was your friend." Diana guessed aptly, her brown eyes inquisitive, "I am very sorry you lost him."

"That's why we fight, Diana." Bruce placed a hand on the glass of the Kryptonite suit, brushing off her words with stiffened shoulders, "To avenge the deaths of people like Lucius, and protect the living."

Bruce looked back at the Amazon, only to find her full attention turned towards the weapons racks. Her manicured fingers stroked the handle of a Batarang, examining the length of the curve and its sharpened edge. It was the same weapon that had cut Mace's throat the night prior, its point freshly polished of blood stains. Yet Diana watched the batarang with active interest, no trace of fear or intimidation.

"I have never seen such things before," Diana admitted, cautiously poking her finger at the Batarang's sharpest point. "When aimed right, they can truly damage your enemies."

"Well, make sure not to throw it," Bruce grimaced, then chuckled as Diana pulled away, her eyes wide. She had cut the tip of her finger on the edge of the Batarang. Bringing it up between her eyes, she watched with childlike fascination as red droplets of blood pooled at the limb.

"I see you two wasted no time in looking for answers."

Alfred peered towards Bruce and Diana across five computers, typing diligently on a holographic keyboard, their wide screens scanning maps of the globe.

"Not only is Alfred our butler, but he is also our head weaponry specialist after Lucius." Bruce addressed the elderly man with pride, a smirk on his face as Diana rubbed her fingers together.

"You're too kind, Master Wayne." Alfred raised his brows at Bruce behind his glasses, "I only help in protecting Batman and his home from intruders, ensure he's equipped with the highest grade weaponry, and heal his wounds when he arrives bruised and batterd from a long night."

"I believe Alfred is the backbone of this operation," Diana interjected, flashing Alfred a brilliant white smile, "You should give him more credit. The soldiers always go unappreciated by their captains."

Diana walked away from the weapons rack towards the flickering computer screens, leaving Bruce to stand alone. "Touche," he retorted, watching the Amazon as she scrutinized the monitors.

She had changed her clothing; from her tattered nightgown to a sharp, black skirtsuit. He surmised that it was her usual attire as Diana Prince, the Antiquities dealer. Gotham's playboy wondered how quickly she had grown accustomed to technology, having lived for so long and watching it blossom. She had been alive during the advent of computers, cellular phones, the internet...yet she still appeared fascinated by things, retaining a child's countenance at even mundane inventions.

The Amazon appeared to him a young child at heart, dressed in the clothes of a woman, armed with the powers of a god.

He found her fascinating.

Being around her excited him—the prospect of working with a woman so innocent, so pure to the bone. There was no corruption evident in her eyes, no darkness in the depths of her soul; the darkness he had grown accustomed to in Gotham, a constant cloud of doom and destruction hanging over their heads, choking him in his nightmares, threatening to kill all that he held dear. Batman had never been able to trust any acquaintance or so-called friend; they were backstabbers, and the endless murderers and villains he had fought for decades had scarred not only his body, but his spirit. Even Superman, with his supposedly pure morals geared toward justice, had his own vices that ultimately brought them to fight to the death.

And then there was Diana; a beacon of light in the darkness, arising from nowhere to battle Doomsday, her sword held high—her honor even higher.

The burden of being a hero had lessened when he met her. He saw in her eyes a rekindling of what Batman had fought for when he first began—peace, truth, justice.

It burned bright within her brown irises, reflecting the depths of her heart—

And he wanted to protect that.

He wanted to keep it safe; to keep it sacred.

He wanted to fight again, with _her_ by his side.

Pulling himself back to reality, Bruce found he had been staring at Diana, who was looking straight back at him. Their eyes locked for a moment that felt like an eon; two old souls in an amiable silence. Hesitantly, Diana's lips curled upwards in a smile, and he found himself acting as a perfect mirror.

 _Back to work, Bruce._

The billionaire brought his inner vigilante into check, straightening his posture and crossing his arms.

"What do you have for us, Alfred?"

The computers worked wildly, a fluorescent green glow from their screens as Alfred continued to type. Different locations flickered alongside latitudes and longitudes: Nairobi, Kenya; Naples, Italy; throngs of tribesmen in a wild forest; open fields of the Swiss Alps. One of the screens pinpointed and stilled on a farmland in Smallville.

The Omega symbol flashed prominently upon every monitor.

"I have the Omegas you were dreaming of, in plain sight, here on Earth."

Bruce walked towards the screen as a cold sweat overtook him, sinking deep within his bones. Suddenly, the batcave faded from his peripheral vision, and he was back within the arid wasteland, surrounded by nothing but endless emptiness. The symbol flashed before him with a silent, humming power, as powerful as the man from the sky, his eyes the hot red of magma—

"Bruce. What is the meaning of this symbol? Mace's last words were also Omega."

Diana interrupted his thoughts, her hand in a vicelike grip on his shoulder. He looked her in the eye and could have sworn he saw a visceral glimmer; a flash of something predatory, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"It's the symbol I have been seeing in my visions. Everything is destroyed and that is all that's left. That, and..." His fist clenched so strong that his nails bit into his palms.

The man with the red eyes, the vision he had before, of a man turned evil, sadistic, leading masses of soldiers to do nothing but _kill and destroy and bleed—_

Diana walked up to the monitors, brows furrowed as locations whizzed across the screens in flickering static. Bruce felt his heart beating between his ears as he watched, the jarring rhyhtm a crescendo of panic that vibrated through his body.

Could it be?

Could it be... _him?_

But how?

"It appears these symbols correspond with high deposits of Kryptonite dispersed across the Earth,"

Alfred murmured, to both himself and the vigilantes. He adjusted his glasses as he typed furiously, his brows furrowed over the screens.

"The Omega in Smallville," Bruce interjected, his arms crossed, "It was right next to the grave."

"The grave of Clark Kent, former writer and citizen of Smalltown. The identity of Superman."

Diana leaned towards the screen, squinting at the rectangle in the earth that was Clark's grave.

It lay curiously hollow.

"Where did he go?"

Both Bruce and Alfred stared at her. "Where did who go?"

"Superman," Diana repeated, pointing at the grave, "It is empty. He left. He's out there somewhere."

"The Omegas and Superman's disappearance," Bruce mused, bringing his hands behind his back in contemplation, "They are related. There's no way it could be a coincidence. "

"But if Superman isn't dead, then...where is he? And who sent Mace to try and kill us? Who is the Omega?"

"And if Superman _is_ alive...is he still on this planet?"

Diana stared at Alfred.

"Something is coming to the Earth. The crop circles, the Kryptonian's disappearance...something from space." Alfred's eyes narrowed as he caught Bruce and Diana's gaze, "And I doubt it is anything friendly."

Alfred suddenly paused, pulling his glasses away from his eyes.

"I've caught something on the radar."

A fire.

Diana's eyes widened as she watched it spread; flames billowing as high as the horizon, reds and yellows licking at the sky, fanning upwards into the sun. Rubble fell into the ocean, cliffsides cut apart with dropping debris. Bodies lay strewn across the sand; women clad in armor, thrown about like rag dolls to die at the waters, others floating lifelessly.

The flames formed the Omega symbol.

Bruce watched Diana's face turn white as porcelain, her lip the only trembling feature of her otherwise stiff body. She stared at the monitor before letting out a scream, rushing towards the computers as if she could break through them and jump to the other side.

 _"Themyscira!"_

He rushed forward to grab her shoulder—Diana turned rapidly and pushed him away from her, face hot with rage. Then, just as quickly, her gaze became desperate; pleading. She grabbed his hands, squeezing so hard a bolt of pain shot through his knuckles.

"Bruce! We must go! We must go NOW! My people...they are in danger!"

"We don't understand what it is that is attacking them, Miss Prince, what if the force is beyond our handling—"

"Alfred, please!" Diana cut him off, turning away from both men to run towards the end of the cave. "If neither of you will go _, I will_!"

"Diana!" Bruce shouted, immediately running after the panicked Amazon.

He couldn't let her make such a rapid decision—but he couldn't let her go alone if she decided to risk her life. She vaulted across the length of the cavern with frenzied steps, brown trendrils whipping wildly behind he as she ran. The end of the cave revealed a short tunnel lined with vehicles. Diana stopped before the Batplane: a miniature, sleek black jet. Bruce scowled to himself as he pulled the keys from his pocket, pressing a button to open the front hatch.

"I'm not letting you go alone. You won't be the only person killing yourself today."

If the circumstances had been different, Diana would have graced him with a wide smile. Instead, her lips pressed sternly together and she nodded as he climbed into the pilot's seat, joining him with a deft leap into the adjoining chair.

"How fast can we get there?"

Bruce watched Diana from the side of his eye as he pressed brightly colored buttons, simultaneously flipping switches while pulling his mask over his head.

"Minutes."

Mollified, Diana grabbed the armrests of her chair and stared forward, her gaze determined.

"Let's go."

* * *

The Batplane ricocheted through the air in an explosion of power, faster than the speed of sound. Diana's breath blew patches of fog onto the glass as they flew, her face reflected in the side panel; eyes hardened, teeth grit, ready for combat. She clutched her blade at her side, its hilt fitting in her palm like a glove. The Amazon imagined swinging it towards her opponent, cutting through skin and tendons, piercing bone, blood spilling to the earth in scarlet droplets.

This was how she would defend Themyscira; this was how she would avenge her people.

Blood will beget blood. The chaos will be silenced.

Although Bruce was quiet the entire ride, she felt his eyes upon her. She could sense the worry emanating from his body in waves, yet all was rendered meaningless within the throes of her rage. All she wanted to do was to stop the massacre and seize the one responsible for bringing harm to her people.

She had no room for empathy.

"There!"

The island first appeared as a red dot upon the horizon, before coming into full view within seconds: half the sands engulfed in flames, the bodies of warriors lifeless buoys dotting the coastline. A trail of blood matted the shore, trickling into the ocean like a miniature river of carnage.

A silent scream filled her lungs, gathering deep into her chest and filling her insides with a throbbing pain.

The scream was of agony; agony for her people, agony for their suffering, for her home's foresaken past and tarnished future.

Diana jammed the point of her blade into the ground, grit her teeth and pulled herself to her feet. Bruce brought the plane to a hover over the island, his eyes panicked behind the confines of his mask.

"I must save them."

The Amazon's voice held a quiet, quivering strength—a trigger ready to be pulled.

Her vision redder than the flames, she screamed a battle cry. She tore the hatch open with the strength of her fists, thick smoke and hot air billowing into the opened plane. Bruce covered his eyes and coughed as Diana, unfazed, stood at the aircraft's lip, pulling her sword and shield at her side. Hair billowing in the wind, her eyes glowed the bright hot red of rage.

"Diana! Wait!"

Arms crossed before her in an X, Diana threw herself into the flames.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Diana tumbled into the jaws of chaos.

Thick, pungent smoke permeated the air, clouding her visibility as she strained to discern her enemies. Blade held high, she sprinted across the shoreline, her heart a hammer in her chest. Nearly stumbling upon a fallen Amazon, Diana froze in her tracks and fell to her knees. A heavy lump formed in her throat that could have dragged her to the ground, leaving her immobile with grief. Tears stabbed at her eyes as she made out the face of her friend Kira. The woman's skin was black, charred and smoking from head to toe; her opened, lifeless eyes the only marker of her identity.

Diana touched Kira's warm cheek, the skin so rough it felt as if she were stroking ashes. Four bodies lay near Kira, strewn across the sands like ragdolls. They were the faces of her sparring partners; faces she had known as a young girl; people with hopes and dreams; their bodies reduced to nothing but smoking husks, their stories ended abruptly.

Then—warmth at her neck, like a hot poker scalding flesh.

Instantly, Diana leapt forwards, a hot spray of scarlet flames scorching the earth where she knelt. The fire charred the side of her hairline, blistering the back of her neck. With an enraged scream, she turned her shield to bash the face of the creature that had assaulted her. It fell with a _thwack_ onto the ground.

The creature was pitch black, donned in an exoskeleton of armor from head to toe. Its shape resembled a human, yet its eyes were feral; the red of a deranged animal. As it struggled in a daze, its wings buzzed and fluttered. Diana's fist clenching onto her blade, she grit her teeth and towered above the insect.

"No mercy," She hissed, stabbing through the creature's gnashing teeth. Metal pierced through its mouth like a knife through butter, a gush of blood erupting from its maw. Diana leapt backwards as smoke billowed from its lips, an inferno erupting in a fiery stream through the air. The Amazon threw her lasso in a golden arc, wrapping it around its neck to staunch the flames. As it writhed in the grip of her lasso, she brought her blade down in an arc towards its face, stabbing it twice. To her satisfaction the insect steadily weakened, flames sparking in embers against its gnashing teeth.

"Diana!"

The gallop of a horse nearby.

Diana's ears perked as her eyes met the turquoise gaze of her mother.

The Queen of the Amazons was exactly as she had remembered her: her long, wheat-colored hair flowed behind her as she dashed towards her; a thick, crown-like helmet donning her scalp. She was strong and proud, yet her armor was charred, black and misshapen, at her torso. Moving quickly, Hippolyta shot two arrows from the quiver in her hand, piercing each of the insect's eyes. It stopped writhing, wings going still.

"Mother!"

Hippolyta grabbed Diana's hand and hoisted her to the back of her steed. Diana broke into sobs against her mother's shoulder; deep, wracking cries that anchored the sadness from her very bones into the air.

"No time for mourning," Hippolyta whispered sternly, "We must fight."

It took greater strength than a god to pull herself together, yet she regained her composure. Once their enemies were dead, they would mourn together, as Amazons, for their lost ones.

Now they had a job to do.

A buzzing sound filled the air.

Diana gaped upwards at a blackened sky.

A swarm of feral insects flew above them; hundreds of beady eyes staring down at the island. Then, something bigger weaving around them— _the Batplane_!

It dodged the insects that rushed at the aircraft with their steel wings. Occasionally, an insect would slam across the plane, cracking the glass surface of the pilot's pit in fractured webs. One of the insects slammed repetitively into the Batplane—almost instantly, a white laser shot through the plane's engine, piercing the insect through its armored heart and killing it instantly.

"How many are there?!" Diana screamed towards her mother as she raised her shield in anticipation of a slaughter. The humming of wings was loud and intense, overtaking any other sound in the area.

"Too many to count," Hipployta shouted, smacking her steed into action, "They just keep coming!"

"But from where?!"

Suddenly, three insects swooped towards them in tandem. Hippolyta's horse dashed wildly across the shore, jumping over the fallen bodies of Amazons and insects alike. Twisting her torso to face the attackers, the Queen launched a volley of arrows from her bow, successfully landing three into the eyes and face of one insect, killing it instantly. To Diana's shock, the insect detonated, triggering an explosion that ripped through the air in a three foot radius. The remaining insects continued their pursuit, simultaneously releasing a stream of flames straight towards them.

"Watch out!"

Hipployta dodged the flames in time, maneuvering her horse to make a sharp turn. Diana knelt against the horse's back as the insects came closer, slashing her sword toward their gnashing jaws. Her blade connected with an insect's face, slashing open its gaping mouth, its jaw falling to the ground. Enraged, the insect began to emit a burst of flames, and Diana whipped it square in the eyes with her lasso, causing it to lose its balance and fall against the ground. She could not dodge the other insect's blaze of fire, embers burning her wrist as she pulled her shield before her to block the rest of the flames. To her surprise, another explosion rendered the attacking insect lifeless on the ground, its wings twitching as it fell. Looking upwards, she saw it had come from the Batplane, hovering above them as they fled.

A small smile creased her face as she made out the face of Batman, his brows furrowed in concentration, finger on the trigger.

The Batplane released a field of electricity that fell like a blue net across throngs of insects, electrocuting them midair. The bugs twitched and shrieked as the net fried them, their metal carcasses nosediving into the sea. From every direction, Diana saw an Amazon battling an insect—some dodging their flames; others burnt, yet fighting to the death.

The battle cry of a nearby warrior filled her ears. A horse darted past a horde of insects, ridden by two Amazon women. They wore thick armor, faces covered by bronze helmets. They threw bolas at the insects that caught immediately, wrapping around their necks and flinging them with force to the ground. Armed with heavy lances, the women stabbed at the insects that had fallen to the earth.

They were not alone.

Themyscira was fighting back.

Suddenly, Diana and Hippolyta's horse stopped in its tracks, raising its fore legs as it screamed a shrill cry into the air. They struggled to hold onto the steed's back as it continued to panic. Hippolyta spoike soothingly against the horse's mane, her efforts enough to bring the horse back down to the ground without throwing them off.

Puzzled, the Amazon women glanced upwards, immediately understanding why the horse had panicked.

A winged demon hovered above them.

"Looks like we found the leader."

A deep voice caught Diana by surprise. She turned her head to find Batman standing beside them, his hand on his weapons belt, stance ready to strike at any moment. The Bat and the Amazons watched the mysterious creature, simultaneously poised to attack.

The creature towered over Batman, Hippolyta, and Diana, a forked tongue protruding from a narrow green face. She was the width of two humans, her appearance resembling a reptile more than any kind of mammal. Clad in the same armor as the insects, her wings fluttered rapidly, her beady red eyes unblinking.

"Who are you? Why have you come to this place?" Batman addressed the creature first, his thumb on a trigger concealed by his cape.

"Inaya," she hissed, appearing to lick scaly lips with her long tongue. "Did you enjoy my Pardemons?"

"You caused this destruction to our people," Hippolyta shouted, "You caused this madness!"

"Not I," The creature retorted, emitting a shrieking laugh, "I was sent to this world."

"You're not from this planet," Batman interjected, "Then where are you from? The same place as the Omegas?"

Inaya's reptilian lips curled into a sly smile.

"Apokolipssssss."

A cold sweat swept across Diana's body, bringing goosebumps to her limbs. Something about that name seemed ominously familiar. Batman frowned at the name as well, appearing to harbor her very same thoughts.

"Enough talk," Inaya hissed, her nostrils flaring with thick black smoke, "It is time for us to fulfill our mission. To kill the Amazonsssss once and for all!"

A battle cry filled the sky, interrupting Inaya's speech. From a distance, another woman's scream—then, another.

Behind them, Amazons came forward in a throng of hundreds. They were the survivors—their bodies bruised and battered, faces covered in blood and soot. Yet they flanked the three heroes as soldiers, their stances strong, swords and quivers raised for battle. Their resilience took Diana's breath away, filling her aching heart with a soothing balm of hope.

Diana stood before the Amazons, her sword raised towards the sky.

"At your command, my Queen."

Hippolyta watched Diana and the Amazons, her gaze solemn. She did not waste any time—Inaya's flames were building in her mouth, flickering red embers blowing from her nostrils in a growing inferno.

"Attack!"

Batman was the first to rush forward, pulling the trigger at his side. The Batplane emitted bright bolts of electricity that streaked through the air towards Inaya, striking her in sharp, booming blows. The creature shrieked in pain and struggled to fly away, its wings batting wildly against the lightning.

Blades popping from his forearm, Batman rushed fowards and stabbed Inaya's throat. The reptile shrieked and leapt backwards, the Dark Knight hanging on to her. He punched the creature in its face before it struggled to bite his hand in retaliation. Before its jaws could lock onto his fist, he executed a swift roundhouse kick to its torso. Inaya fell backwards towards the ground, leaving Batman to tumble to the floor. As it made contact, a volley of arrows from Hippolyta's quiver pierced Inaya's torso.

"Diana!" Hippolyta shouted, " _Now!_ "

Diana rushed away from Inaya to somersault towards the throng of approaching insects. Every inch of her body boiled with rage; a wrath so strong it made her veins hot; set her blood ablaze. She ran towards the insects as they rushed for her, her mind emblazoned with a singular objective: _Kill._

Diana screamed, and the world shook within the tremors of her wrath.

A shockwave of golden light burst from her bracelets, blowing every assailing insect backwards to the ground. The closest bugs fell dead instantly; the remainder crippled and disoriented, their wings twitching soundlessly; red eyes blank.

 _God power._

The remaining Amazons shouted a battle cry in unison as they bore forward, blades and arrows ripping through tons of metal and scaly flesh. She watched with savage relish as they died.

Batman and Hippolyta had overpowered Inaya in unision—the Dark Knight snapped the creature's neck, weakend by a torrent of arrows from the Amazons. Hippolyta dove a short blade into Inaya's face, a sickening _squelch_ filling the air as the Mother insect died.

As Inaya lay lifeless on the ground, remaining insects fell to the floor, their eyes blank and bodies inert.

Themyscira lay still and solemn.

The Amazons did not cheer.

They dropped their swords and shields, running to their fallen comrades. Amazons carried their sisters in slings to shelter: the living and dead alike. A woman knelt at the side of a young child, wrapping gauze around her bloodied forearm. Hippolyta immediately made haste to the center of the massacre, instructing her people as they walked. Several Amazons, their heads hung sadly, began to identify the dead.

Diana bowed her head.

A weight settled against her shoulders; heavier than gravity. It was the weight of the dead that pressed into her soul, threatening to smother her whole. So many precious lives lost; as fragile as glass, shattered within seconds. The names and faces of her sisters floated before her, forever haunting her mind like a poltergeist. They would linger forever behind her closed eyes; lives she could have saved had she come minutes earlier.

She could not stand to feel this pain. She could not stand to see this bloodshed.

She needed to leave.

To escape.

To wake up and know that this was all a dream.

A dark figure brushed past the corner of her eyesight. She turned her head to see Batman standing amidst the Amazons, struggling to help however he could.

"Bruce!"

Diana ran towards the Dark Knight, tears creasing her face, throat raw with devastation. His eyes wide, Batman quickly pulled his arms out, enveloping her in a hug. The Amazon pressed her cheek against his thick armor, sobbing freely. Batman dropped to his knees and she was on the ground with him, nestled in the warmth of his embrace.

She did not know how much time passed in his arms.

All she knew was that, for this one moment, she felt safe. She felt shielded from the horror that surrounded them; protected from the slaughter of her kin. With her loved ones dead all around her, Diana sought comfort in the steady beating of this man's heart; a constant, consoling thrum against her ear.

After what felt like an eternity, Batman's gloved hand pressed against her skin. He tipped her chin up, her eyes meeting his: tear-streaked brown against a steady blue. His thumbs swept away the tears on her cheeks as he held her face in his hands.

She imagined what would happen next:

 _She would pull him towards her, press her lips against his. She would feel his warmth, his strength, his power, feel it mesh against her own. Two powerful beings, locked together in a moment of passion; two warriors, warm and strong and alive, seeking solace in one another. His hands wrapped around her torso, in her hair; his warm breath on her skin; their bodies pressed together..._

 _I can't._

 _I can't rely on anyone._

 _I must be strong._

 _For my people._

 _For Themyscira._

Gently, Diana pulled his hands away from her face.

She turned around and allowed herself to take in the devastation. The ruins of what had once been a proud, powerful island of Amazons. The rubble. The gore staining the pristine white sands. The smoke that pierced the skies; a heavy pallor that hung over her heart.

This was reality.

She needed to face it alone.

* * *

The sun set against the horizon in a half moon, cresting the clearing sky in scarlets and orange: remnants of the battle that had passed. Boats laid against the shore, black shadows reflecting in the waters as they rocked gently against the current. Within each boat, the bodies of her loved ones lay, dressed immaculately in white robes, their heads crowned with wreaths of lilies. Their lifeless hands clutched bouquets of straw and flint.

Hippolyta stood before them, donning black armour: the shade of mourning.

"Today we gather to remember the ultimate sacrifice of our sisters."

Diana stood beside Hippolyta and Batman, her hands clasped before her. She watched the ground as Hippolyta spoke, her gaze blank as her solemn words flowed through her ears.

"These brave Amazons have completed their mission on Earth. They have fought to the death to protect mankind, just as the gods have ordained. They should be remembered with pride as the heroes that they are."

The throng of surviving Amazons stood before them, clad in black armor. They nodded in agreement as Hippolyta spoke.

"As they cross the River Styx into the afterlife, we will light their way."

Instinctively, Diana grabbed Batman's gloved hand. She felt him startle, yet he squeezed reassuringly.

"May their journey be blessed."

With a nod, Hippolyta brought a dagger down to cut the ropes that held the boats ashore. Hundreds of vessels floated slowly across the ocean, pulled away by the current.

The fallen Amazons' bouquets ignited into irisdecent white flames, lighting the darkening horizon like stars in the sea.

"May their journey be blessed," Diana murmured.

* * *

They sat within the palace of Themyscria; a massive stone building that jettisoned through the sky like a shining dagger. Diana sat upon a stone bench, adorned in a black tunic, her hair pulled back in the braids she wore as an Amazon child. She fumbled nervously with her hands, knotting and wringing her fingers together—her mind drifting away, across the sea, with the boats that held the spirits of her sisters, ashes floating from the waters into the afterlife.

Bruce sat beside her. She had convinced him that none in Themyscira would care for his identity. Unmasked, he wore a silk black tunic and pants, hair wet from the rock pools within the caverns.

Diana could not keep track of the times that Bruce stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words. She did not discuss the depths of her pain, refusing to show any weakness before him aside from her sobbing in the aftermath of the battle.

If she were to break down again, she wasn't sure she would recover.

How could any being survive being shattered into a million pieces?

"Diana,"

Bruce's voice was a resounding echo in the palace, bouncing off of stone walls flanked with flickering torches. She raised her head to meet his gaze, focusing on the warm honey flecks in his brown irises.

He was ruggedly handsome. Although his heart was shrouded in darkness, she saw utter compassion in his eyes, brought to life through her suffering.

"I am so sorry you lost so many of your people."

At a loss for words, she looked down at the marble floor. What do humans say in such an instance? ' _That's all right, it's part of life? These things happen? It was their time? At least we saved the others?'_

"I will seek my vengeance against the attackers."

Her words were sharp and biting, a promise of destruction yet to come. As Bruce pursed lips, understanding emanated soundlessly from his face. She realized this feeling had been a mirror to his own, when the Kryptonians decimated Metropolis. She could feel the depths of his rage, could understand the agony that had gripped him; a soul crushing pain that now locked her heart in a vice.

"First things first, Diana," His voice was a whisper tinged with an odd tenderness,

"We must discuss what happened, and have Alfred research Apokolips."

"I know what happened," She seethed, "Those monsters came to destroy our people."

"But why?" Bruce pressed, his brows furrowed. "Why Themyscira? And why Apokolips? Is this a planet near our Solar System? Does it have anything to do with the...Kryptonians? With Superman's disappearance?"

She noticed his hesitation as he spoke of Superman, yet she said nothing of it.

"They are tied to the Omega," Diana offered meekly, struggling to think amidst the fog of her grieving mind, "They will not be the only ones arriving from Apokolips. There is a purpose behind it. They want something."

"And we will find out what that something is."

Bruce enveloped her in a solemn stare. She could feel his intentions before he spoke of them; the warmth in his eyes, the untold promise behind his lips. He would fight to the death with her. She found herself staring back at him, drawn by his visage of protection; the undeniable aura of power seeping through his pores.

He was her comrade, her partner in this battle. And yet, there was something else...

"Diana."

The Amazon's head snapped up as Hippolyta approached. The Queen shot a chagrined look at Bruce, eyeing the proximity of their bodies as they sat near one another. Straightening her posture, Diana pulled herself away from Bruce, standing alert.

"Mother."

The blonde Amazon nodded towards Bruce, who nodded back.

"Your majesty."

"Diana," Hippolyta began, before hesitating. "I would like to speak with you alone."

"No."

Diana's refusal caused both Bruce and Hippolyta's eyes to widen.

"Bruce will listen to whatever you have to say, mother. We are partners in this battle. Any information you may give, he is privileged to hear."

Hippolyta eyed Bruce, visibly sizing him up. The billionaire's stance was confident and resolute, unhindered by her silent threat. Considering for a moment, Hippolyta crossed her arms in resignation. A black bag hung at her side.

"Very well."

Pursing her lips, the Queen of the Amazons sat at a stone chair opposite from the bench.

"Diana, I must tell you something that I have never told you before. Not in the years since I have heard of your defeat of Ares. You understand that I always seek to protect you from threats. From...outside exposure, and the violence of mankind."

She glared disapprovingly at Bruce, who raised an eyebrow.

Diana's stomach clenched. She stood rigidly still, curiosity nipping at the edge of her mind.

"What is it, mother?"

Hippolyta's gaze suddenly held a somber heaviness. Her mother was thousands of years old, yet she had never shown her age until now. Weighed down by countless lives and deaths, battles and conquests, the Queen of the Amazons had the body of a warrior, yet the soul of a crone.

She wished she could relinquish this weight from her. She wished she could never again see her mother suffer.

Yet this was just the beginning.

"You killed Ares," Hippolyta began again, hoisting the heavy bag at her side between herself and Diana. "You destroyed the God of War. You killed the last Olympian in existence. In doing so, you have a duty you must fulfill. I wish...I wish it were not so."

Her hands trembling around the hooded object, she pressed it forward towards Diana. Hesitantly, the Amazon grabbed it. It was curiously heavy.

Diana unwrapped the object and gasped.

She held a polished bronze helmet in her hands, topped with the curved ivory of two ram's horns.

"I have hidden it from you for years, but it can no longer be contained. This power you inherited, and you must use. Just as you must use the power of Zeus, your father, you must now claim the title that is rightfully yours."

The helmet hummed in her hands. She could feel its pull: the raw, pounding power, its energy shooting jolts of electricity through her veins. It laid between her hands as if it were part of her, a limb that she had never known was missing; a feral and violent extension of her warrior's soul.

"Diana."

Her gaze met her mother's as she spoke the christening words:

"You are now the God of War."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lois ran fiercely; breath quickening, red hair whipping in scarlet flames behind her. She did not know how close her assailant was. All she knew was the heaviness of her own breaths, the quickness of her steps as she weaved wildly through crowds of confused, shouting people; as wide-eyed and panicked as a gazelle. She feinted to the left as the sound of a thunderbolt crashed through the air. Whiping her head to the right, she saw thick tendrils of smoke billowing from the concrete. A— _laser?_ —had blasted the sidewalk, obliterating asphalt into a black, smoking hole.

A menacing thought flitted across her mind, the blood rushing to her head.

 _Her own body blasted to smithereens by the laser beam, her skin cells disintegrating, nothing left of her body but ashes._

Wild with panic, Lois turned a sharp left, running straight across traffic in a beeline. Cars skidded to a halt before her, a truck narrowly missing her petite frame. The enraged driver threw his door open to scream at her, yet her senses were deafened to anything but the adrenaline pounding in her veins.

Then—her heel struck a pothole.

It snapped from her shoe as she tumbled to the ground. Lois smacked the asphalt, swinging her arms wildly in an attempt to get back on her two feet. A hand grabbed her shoulder, ensnaring her in a heavy grip. She struggled to pull away, a shrill scream tearing her lungs as heat blazed the back of her neck. Lois managed to turn the side of her head to see the hooded face of her attacker—bright, red eyes that scalded through to her soul.

Flames flowed from inside the hood; embers popping and burning at her cheek. She closed her eyes and sobbed, the tears flowing freely from her cheeks, passersby sickeningly oblivious to her terror.

"Please!" She shouted, "Tell me what you want! Let me go and I'll give you anything!"

It wouldn't work. The flames grew stronger, from embers to a smoking blaze, filling the hood with a light that illuminated the man's buglike features. Lois's cheek scalded as she cried out in pain.

She threw her laptop bag at the man, the weight of her computer smashing into his side—with no effect. Pain stabbed through her bones, the skin on her arm blistering.

As she screamed, the truth seeped into her mind.

 _She was going to die._

"Not so fast, bug boy!"

A miniature cyclone filled the street corner.

Lois's attacker barely had time to look up before the winds enveloped him, swallowing him whole. Lois fell backwards, palms pressed into the sidewalk as she stared at the tornado that had saved her life. Its winds whipping her ruby locks into her face, the cyclone rushed away from her, spiraling straight upwards into the air and disappearing across the horizon.

She stared in awe as it became a pinprick in the sky. Trembling, Lois put her weight into her forearms and pulled away with a pained cry. Her right forearm was heavily blistered; pale skin a raw, salmon pink.

"You're Lois, right? _The_ Lois Lane, star reporter at the Daily Planet?"

The man's voice was light and quick.

Lois found it nearly impossible to make out what he had said to her. Senses slowed down by shock, she glanced upwards to meet the sea blue eyes of a man donned in a spandex red costume from head to toe. Golden wings dotted his ears, reminding her of the Greek god, Hermes.

He gave her an impish grin, perfectly white teeth fully bared. Eyes narrowing with concern at her arm, he extended his hand towards her left. She barely grasped onto his fingertips before he pulled her upwards, far too quickly to comprehend. Within a split second she was standing on her feet.

"Hey, let me look at that." His words were a quick ramble—syllables conjoined, periods missing from sentences. A flash of his hand across her arm and she found it shining with a salve that cooled her skin, neutralizing the raw pain.

"Thank...you." She fumbled with her words, staring up at him. "Um...who exactly are—"

"Oh, come _on."_ He smiled again, hands at his hips, "Just because you know Batman and Superman doesn't make me any less important. I'm sure you've seen me in the headlines."

Lois hesitated, arching a ginger brow. "I'm sorry...I haven't—"

"I'm _The Flash._ " He replied quickly, crossing his arms. "Barry Allen, but that's between you and me. Anyway, I trust you, because I know you, even though you don't know me _...yet_." He grinned again, his smile blindingly white. "And we can talk about that too, soon enough."

"Talk about...what?" Lois found she could barely speak before he interrupted both her thoughts and words.

"Listen, Lois," He spoke sternly now, pointing a finger towards her as if he were a parent, "We have to go on a mission. We have to find Batman, and Wonderwoman, and while we're at it...maybe, _maybe_ we can find Superman, too. Before it's all too late."

Lois spluttered, struggling to string together sentences to vocalize the extent of her confusion.

"I know." He raised a hand before her, "It's all _very_ distressing. But I know what's going to happen—not right now, of course, but later on. And I think we're on the right track. We have time, I mean."

"Time to do...what?"

The Flash rolled his eyes. Lois scoffed, momentarily offended, before he clasped his hands before her in a plea.

"I told you. Time to find everyone. Before everything goes to hell."

* * *

He was suspended in darkness.

Darkness seeped into his pores, cocooning him in infinite blackness. It pressed against him like gravity, crushingly heavy against his body. He struggled to push himself forwards—backwards— _anywhere!_ —yet he did not budge. The blackness formed against him like stone; entrapping him, utterly and completely.

If he let it, he knew it would suffocate him.

How did he get here?

He struggled to think.

He remembered _pain._ Physical and emotional pain intertwined, the piercing sharpness of kryptonite stabbing through his body; impaling him. The rupturing of vital arteries, hot blood pooling from his wounds as his body grew limp and cold.

He recalled the moment he died.

Fragments of his own life flashing before his eyes.

Martha Kent staring down at him with her loving eyes. Her warm embrace as he lay in her arms, a weak and vulnerable child. The same loving gaze that never aged, surviving into adulthood. That love reflected and mirrored in the eyes of Lois Lane.

Thinking of Lois had brought him immense pain—made him struggle against the rapid dissemination of his brain. He struggled to fight on, to keep the breath in his lungs, the blood pumping in his heart—

If only to see those faces again.

If only to protect Lois—to know she was okay.

Yet he had failed. At that moment, he had died.

His heart had stopped beating. Cells depleted and died. The flicker in his eyes faded as kryptonite poisoned his blood; from a rich red to sickly, rotting green.

 _Then—_

Dirt.

A box that could not contain him; weak and flimsy beneath his grip, even as his hands shook and his breaths gasped for air.

Something had called to him in the dark—a woman's voice.

Lois's voice.

The coffin had given way to his strength, and he flew through the earth, darting six feet under like a bullet into the sky.

And then... _what?_

Confusion permeated his thoughts. Why was he back in darkness? He had broken free, hadn't he?

This was not dirt. Instead of soft, wet earth, his hands felt cold air.

More importantly?

He wasn't alone. He could feel something else; another sentient being nearby.

"Hello?"

His voice was gruff and ragged in the night. His question was answered by silence. He wanted to hit the walls, break something, feel _something_ in his grasp. Nothing came within his grip but the thin air.

"Hello?"

An eternity passed, time immeasurable within the starless space.

 _"Kal-El."_

The sound reverberated all around him, between stagnant atoms and molecules, piercing the darkness like a spearhead. Kal-El looked upwards, struggling to find the direction of the voice; but to no avail. It ricocheted across the darkness in every possible direction.

"Show yourself."

His shout was a challenge in the night. He began to wonder if he was being held captive. The thought appeared disturbingly accurate.

" _Kal-El."_ The voice began again, faster than before, " _You were brought here to save your loved ones._ "

A pang in his heart as he imagined Lois's eyes; Martha's loving gaze. His fists clenched tightly, his mind began to panic.

"Where are they? What have you done with them?"

He struggled to fly. The urge began in his mind, surging through neurons that commanded his Kryptonian limbs, adrenaline endowing his body with the power of dispersing gravity to launch himself into the skies.

 _Fly,_ he urged, his breath catching in his lungs; buoyant, ready to inhale thousands of feet of oxygen.

Nothing happened.

He did not move an inch.

Puzzled and enraged, Kal-El shouted into the darkness.

" _Kal-El, I am not your enemy._ "

The voice was stern and commanding. Something shot through his veins like a surge of electricity. A forcefield? He immediately felt sluggish.

"If you are not my enemy, why am I imprisoned here?"

" _To protect you,"_ The voice responded immediately, sounding amused for the first time. " _You would be in a blind rage if you knew your loved ones were in danger. And yet, they_ are _in danger."_

Again, he shouted. The words were an anathema to his ears, repelling every atom in his being away from this place, away and towards wherever he needed to go to _help them, he needed to help them, he needed to go now—_

" _The more energy you try to use, the weaker you grow. You must rest and focus on avenging them."_

"Avenging them?" His heart dropped. Teeth gnashed together, Superman struggled as fiercely as possible. As he did so, his eyelids grew heavy, his thrashing gradually weakening. He felt exhausted.

" _They may die at any moment. I am very sorry._ "

Beyond a feigned sadness, the voice sounded amused.

"Let me out of here! Let me help them! Lois! _Lois_!"

A light flashed before him, illuminating the blackness with a brilliant sheen. His eyes drawn to the singular luminescence, Kal-El stared as it slowly expanded into a cube. The cube doubled in size, forminig a perfect rectangle before him. Life-sized images flickered before him, as real as if they had been transported to his dark reality.

Lois Lane stood before him, all five foot four of her impeccable beauty. Kal-El struggled to reach forward and touch her, yet his fingers shot straight through the light, grasping not onto Lois's soft skin, but the cold fluidity of neverending darkness.

Lois's eyes were wide, her mouth gagged with duct tape, hands cuffed behind her back. She squirmed uselessly in her restraints, pressed against a stone wall, ankles taped together to keep them in an upright position.

He watched the gunshot pierce her chest—once, twice, three times. Each time Lois's body jerked with the impact of the bullets; each time a spray of blood splashed against the stone walls, her screams muffled against tape. She slumped against the wall, her eyes wide with tears, and for a moment Clark could feel her stare directly at him.

As the final bullet pierced through her forehead, Clark's own guttural screams ricocehted through the abyss.

Her tear-streaked eyes went blank.

His mind torn, heart breaking into pieces, Superman was rendered utterly powerless as Lois died before him.

"I do not wish for this duty."

Diana's lips pursed, she gazed pleadingly at her mother. Hippolyta's head hung low, blonde tendrils framing her face.

"It is not your decision to make, Diana," Hippolyta murmured, "It is the will of the gods. Without the conqueror of Ares taking up his helm, his powers would roam free to any bystander to inherit: whether a moral or immoral person. We would not want such strength to fall into the wrong hands. The ability to entice humans into war...to raise armies, mortal and dead alike. Catastrophe would strike the world as we knew it."

Her face solemn, Diana raised the ram helmet to eye level. She stared at the intricate broze work, her eyes boring into the holes that would possibly frame her own delicate features.

"And so I protect this power. This force of destruction I have struggled to battle for years."

"Yes. You must not bend to its will. You must not become as Ares was, corrupt and power hungry. You must become its protector. You must use its powers for good...or never use them at all."

She wondered what Steve Trevor would do. He had killed himself, fighting to defend the human race. Would he have urged her to accept this power, to use it for good? To avenge her fallen sisters and stop this evil force?

The helmet lowered to her hips, Diana felt its electric energy hum through her veins, a primal call to power that beckoned to her soul. Even without the helm on her head, she could feel its enticing whispers; could fathom how Ares turned humans corrupt so easily, how a mere set of words became nuclear bombs that decimated hundreds of innocent lives.

She understood the hunger for power. The thirst for carnage.

She also understood that no mortal could ever claim this power as their own.

Diana stared at the marble floor as she nodded to herself. Then, she lifted her eyes to meet Hippolyta's, her gaze resolute.

"I must make this sacrifice."

* * *

Bruce and Diana sat within the Batplane, belts fastened as they prepared for takeoff. The Amazon appeared ensconced within her own thoughts, still examining the bronze helmet that lay between her hands.

 _A god?_

The billionaire wondered as he stared at the woman by his side. He had never been a believer of any faith or creed—yet it seemed _gods_ , of all things, were real. Was this woman really the daughter of Zeus?

 _Well, I suppose as we all fly around saving the world, gods would be more in the realm of "normal."_

He smirked to himself, lightly placing his hand upon Diana's wrist. The brunette flinched, eyes narrowed toward him momentarily, before relaxing. Deciding to give her grace, he regaled her with a smile.

"What's our next destination?"

"I am...unsure." Diana hesitated, finally placing the helmet within the black bag at her side. "There is nothing for me here. Only Hippolyta and..." her lips quivered as she spoke, appearing to struggle to keep her composure, "...and the memories of my fallen sisters. But I must avenge them. We must find these monsters. We just need to know _who_ their leader is."

As Diana spoke, something within her voice clicked in his mind. Memories of the past floated before him; battles and struggles against a monster from another world. The fight with Doomsday, the fight with Superman, the first time he had met Diana—

Imprisoning Lex Luthor, the deranged, billionaire boy that had brought only evil upon Metropolis. The boy whose head had been shaved in prison. The boy he visited in a vengeful rage after Superman's funeral, seeking nothing more than to bash his pathetic face into pieces.

Then—

Lex Luthor's words laced within his mind, spoken with a sneer and hollow eyes:

He knew the answer now.

"We don't need to know who their leader is," He whispered softly, "But who called them here _._ "

 _But, the bells are already been rung, and they've heard it. Out in the dark. Among the stars. Ding dong, the God is dead. The bells, cannot be unrung! He's hungry. He's found us. And he's coming!_

As Bruce shifted the gear forward to start the engine, Lex's sadistic, cackling laughter rang in his ears.

"Where are we going?" Diana questioned, her eyes wide in surprise at his brusqueness.

"To visit our old friend Lex and get some answers out of him."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The maximum security prison of Metropolis stood as a sentinel among the skyline's buildings, its steel frame a razor cutting through the night horizon. Built as a stronghold to incarcerate the most vile of offenders, its thick steel frame and maze-like floor plans were designed to be impenetrable.

Tonight, the message of the prison's strength fell on deaf ears: at the base of the building, six feet from the front door, a huge, gaping hole exposed its innards. Smoke rose in plumes from the hole's charred edges, insulatory foam and wires scattered haphazardly across the ground. An alarm screamed through the air; a call for all officers to gather at the site, and a warning for all prisoners to stay within their cells.

Guards flanked the inside of the hole, armed with military grade weaponry and armor, protective masks shielding their faces. Bruce glided from his vantage point at a nearby building, landing lithely on his two feet next to the hole's entrance, his cape billowing behind him. Diana met at his side, fully garbed in her Wonder Woman suit. The guards acknowledged them with a terse nod, weapons held resolutely at their chests.

"Where is your chief?" Batman asked the nearest guard.

The guard, a tall, pudgy man, stood before the open hole, his shoulders crossed, "He's on his way here. The prison is offlimits in the meantime. Real crime scene in there."

His brow furrowed, the vigilante stood tall before the guard, fists clenched.

"I'm doing my job, same as your chief. We're on the same team."

After countless years defending the world, the hostility of law enforcement still amazed him. The guard's face softened, yet he glared at Batman, puffing up his chest to appear intimidating. To Bruce, he resembled a blowfish with a bad attitude.

"Not sure if I can keep you out," He retorted, wagging his finger as a warning. "Better be careful in there, all sorts of debris and...dead bodies. Wouldn't want you to ruin the evidence, or maybe tamper with it."

Diana walked up to the guard, glancing tentatively at Batman before addressing him,

"We are looking for Lex Luthor. Where can we find him?"

The stocky guard shrugged nonchalantly, smacking his lips. "Find him yourself."

Anger flashed across Diana's face; Bruce quickly nudged her shoulder, their eyes locking. Her face softened and she pressed forward, leading the way inside the rubble. The first few feet were dotted with guards, identical to their arrogant friend; some appeared to care less about their jobs, while others grazed vigilantly at their posts, eyes narrowed as the two heroes walked forward. Bruce had encountered every type of cop, could easily profile every person based simply on their visage.

"You would think we are doing these humans a favor," Diana retorted as they walked through what appeared to be a dark cavern. "As if we need them, and not the other way around."

Batman smirked, "Diana, if this is the first time you've encountered ungrateful people, you're either new at all of this, or in denial."

The Amazon raised her head, honey brown eyes weighing him, "I am the new god of war, Bruce. I have every right to be judgmental of the entire human race. Yet here I am, at your side, seeking to protect all of mankind. The least I can do is complain about the unthankful ones."

"The new god of war." The words tasted bitter in Bruce's mouth, "Tell me Diana, what does the god of war do? Wasn't Ares the type of person we fight against?"

He saw her hesitate; her lips opened to respond, yet she simply lowered her head towards the black pouch at her side. "I am nothing like Ares."

Batman watched her as she withdrew, both physically and emotionally. Remorse bit at the edges of his subconscious, putting words into his mouth he should have uttered: _No, you're nothing like him. In fact, I know you will use this power for good. Diana, you are my partner, we will get through this together—_

Instead, he kept his gaze forward, focusing on the task at hand.

The gloomy black interior of the prison reflected the vices of its occupants; a wicked madness unleashed with the hole. The corridors were dim, flickering lights casting a sickly pallor over the crime scene. The dead bodies of guards lay against walls and floors, their bloody remains scattered through prison bars.

Bruce and Diana navigated the main hallways, passing cells filled with rowdy prisoners; their screams echoed across the prison, catcalls to Diana, insults to Batman, pleas to be let out; some men screamed in terror, begging to be freed before more people died; others were deranged, wanting simply to wreak havoc.

Hundreds of prisoners stood at the front of their cells, gripping the bars and staring. Countless faces dotted the hallways, outfitted in orange jumpsuits.

Lex was nowhere to be found.

"It looks like Lex's cell was in D Block."

Batman's gaze focused on the charred remains of the prison block sign. The cells were padded, sealed off not by bars, but by heavy duty, industrial doors.

"How do we know what happened here?" Diana murmured, sidestepping fallen rubble as she examined the explosion site. Batman moved stealthily about the corridor, his eyes alighting upon possible signs of what could have occurred, tying events piece by piece.

"We examine the crime scene piece by piece, and come to a likely conclusion."

As he spoke, he pressed a button at the side of his forearm. A bright beam of blue light flashed from his glove, encapsulating the prison sign in its glow. The light illuminated ruddy fingerprints against the wall, smeared enough to resemble scratches. He frowned, touching the side of the prints contemplatively.

"Looks like there was a struggle. Which, we could already tell by the bodies. But..."

He flashed the light across the corridor, revealing footprints scattered in clusters across the ground. Batman followed the prints until he reached the cell block, before pausing. Diana followed his steps, the clacking of her boot heels against the ground the only indication she was there. He was engrossed in his work, puzzling together stories and scenarios within his head, a million different possibilities brought together by hidden facts and motives, waiting to be unearthed.

"But what, Bruce?" Diana's gaze swept across the floor as he walked, focusing on the illuminated footsteps. Suddenly, she yelped—Bruce turned to see her flinching away from the corner of the cell block, eyes squinted in disgust. Blood, thick and bright, settled in a pool against the ground. It framed a severed hand, its palm upturned.

Bruce flashed the light upon the hand, his lip curling in disgust.

"That's a guard's hand. See the residue under the nails?"

He bent towards it, delicately peeling back a fingernail with his gloved hands. Black, ashy residue was spackled against the pale white skin.

"Gun powder."

"Who would kill in such a way? This is a massacre." Diana's voice was heavy with disgust and horror. Batman nodded in silent agreement, walking towards the cell block to examine prints.

To his surprise, there were no prints outside of the cell. He flashed his light across the length of the prison bars to confirm his suspicion. Blood caked the inside of the cell, yet the walls beyond were pristine, immaculate—as if they were frozen in time, a stillframe of mere minutes before the carnage had ever occurred.

"Looks like an inside job," Batman mused, before turning quickly to examine the rubble that lay strewn across the length of the corridor.

"You think the guards rebelled?" Diana's voice was skeptical, yet equally surprised. "This is one of the most secure prisons in the area. How would they have been driven to massacre innocents, to free criminals?"

He turned his head to examine the woman behind him. He took in her incredulous gaze, the contradictory innocence in her eyes, eyes set within the body of a warrior, with the strength of a god and the ability to inflict twice this amount of damage, to massacre hundreds of lives at once.

She did not seem like a god of War. She seemed a god of honor, of strength and purity—but of war?

"People turn all the time, Diana. I'm surprised you didn't see more turncoats during the war."

The Amazon raised a brow, kicking away a patch of nearby rocks.

"I have seen men fall left and right under the sway of Ares. And even without him, I have seen their drive to destroy. I thought things would have changed in the modern era."

"Evil is timeless."

They found four bodies in the immediate area—all guards, their bodies mutilated in the massacre. One guard's head decapitated; the other appearing completely scorched by flames, his body a black husk; the next chopped in half, his torso twelve feet away from his lower body. The last was the severed hand—they could not find the corpse that owned it.

"All of these bodies. All of these lives lost." Diana hung her head low, her hand pressed against the black hood at her side. "This must be connected to Apokolips. They must be responsible."

"I would be inclined to agree," Batman muttered as he bent over the scorched guard, scratching burnt skin from his body with a tiny razor. The tech of his beam picked up the skin, scanning atoms and molecules with data collected by Wayne Corp.

"Alfred." Bruce spoke to the butler through an earpiece, pressing his hand against his mask to activate it. "Do you see what I'm seeing?"

"Yes, Master Bruce. I am scanning the residue at this very moment."

After a minute of silence, Alfred sighed, "It appears that the fire that killed this man was...of insect origin. There are no bugs on Earth I am aware of with such fire-breathing capabilities."

"But I know of a planet that has them." Bruce pulled his hand from his ear, fists tightening at his sides. "Apokolips."

"Whoever attacked these guards," Diana interjected, "brought those bugs to help them. And perhaps they abducted Lex."

Batman's gaze was solemn as he knelt against the rubble, searching for more clues. "I have a hunch that it's a willing relationship."

* * *

Lois's apartment was a hodgepodge of disaster: clothes were shredded, strewn about the ground in multicolored ribbons. Her slender floor lamp had fallen to the floor in broken pieces. Her black leather couches were upturned and slashed, their foam innards exposed. The filing cabinet of her office corner lay on its side, metal drawers dented, papers littered against the carpet like leaves.

She covered her mouth and fell to her knees, her burnt forearm aching. Fear gripped her with skeletal fingers when she thought of the creature that had pursued her, stalked her with intent to kill. And now _it_ knew where she lived? Someone knew, and someone had ravaged her personal space utterly and completely.

What would have happened if she were home? Did they want to kill her in this building, burn her alive on the couch?

Her head throbbed like a drum, the pain causing the room to spin before her.

"Lois." A hand gripped her shoulder, firm and comforting.

She raised her head to see Barry hovering over her. Somehow, he had changed from his costume to a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. He sighed as they scanned the wreckage in unison.

"Looks like we'll be needing some added security to this place," he said, his voice light and airy despite the dark circumstances, "And I have some spring cleaning to do. Well—no harm, no foul."

Barry rolled up his sleeves before a scarlet whirlwind overtook Lois's apartment. Gasping, she watched as the destructive force seemingly defied nature to reassemble her apartment. The cyclone lifted her couches, throwing her clothes across the room into the laundry hamper, scattering papers back into her filing cabinet and discarding the shredded fragments, even re-mounting her television—what appeared to be her broken TV floating for three minutes as the wires blurred and reconnected to the proper outlets.

The cyclone flew into every other room: her bedroom, bathroom, kitchen—before emerging after a mere three minutes. All the while, the reporter's jaw hung open in astonishment, her mind blank as she struggled to comprehend that the destruction she had just witnessed had been erased from the timeline, as if it had never occurred at all.

Lois crawled towards the flimsy wooden desk and filing cabinet she called her home office. The best way for her to cope with any situation was with logic, reasoning, and research. Knowing this, she pulled herself into her previously upturned seat, took a deep breath, and pulled her laptop out of her bag. Barry emerged from the kitchen, a triumphant smirk on his face—as if he were her pet, and had executed a particularly impressive trick. He walked towards the redhead and offered her part of his homemade ham sandwich.

Both irate that Barry had raided her fridge and amused at his , she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"So." Barry waved his sandwich towards Lois as he spoke, "Were they coming for you, or were they searching for something?"

Lois had the exact same question. She peered at the contents of her laptop, the coordinates she had pinpointed for each Omega sighting. She didn't have any particularly useful information she had gleaned in her computer, unless there was something else they wanted? Something...personal?

 _Clark._

His name penetrated her panic, as clear and strong as a steel sword, stabbing its way through the currents of her mind and embedding itself into the sheath of her subconscious. It twisted through her emotions, resurfacing the grief at his presumed death, and the renewed pain of knowing he could possibly be alive—just _gone._

The wedding ring hung on a clasp about her neck. She gripped it tightly, biting her lip in deep thought.

"If you say there's a chance he's still alive," Lois pondered aloud, "They might be looking for a way to...find him."

The blonde grunted in agreement between chews, raising his brows to encourage her to continue.

"Or maybe they already found him." Her voice lowered to a whisper, her mind racing, an untethered stallion, to a path she feared, "Maybe they found him and they're looking for leverage."

As much as she struggled to pull its reigns, her mind descended further down that horrific path: _Clark is in danger, he's in danger at this very moment and there's nothing we can do and no way we can find him or help him, what can I do please I can't let him die, I can't let him leave forever—_

"We have to find the Justice League," Barry announced between chews, jettisoning Lois from her intrusive thoughts.

"The Justice League?"

Barry threw his arms out in exasperation, the movement a red blur in the fluorescent lights of her living room.

"We find them, we find a way to stop the future from happening, right here in the present. And we find out, with their help, where Superman is."

Lois hesitated, her eyes downcast, an anxious lump forming in her throat. She did not want to ask the question that danced along her tongue, simply because she feared the answer.

"What exactly... _happens_ in the future?"

Barry's gaze became grave as he dropped his sandwich into its plate.

"The collapse of mankind. The death of all the heroes, human and metahuman alike. The apocalypse."

His words sent chills through her spine. Curiosity tugged at her lips, urging her on,

"And Superman? What happens to him?"

The blonde stared directly at Lois for a good minute, the quick length of time feeling as if it stretched for eons. He appeared to be hesitating, wondering if he should tell her or not. This caused Lois's jaw to tighten, her hands gripped in anxious fists.

"You have to tell me. Tell me right this moment."

As if losing his resolve, Barry hung his head, his brows furrowed in a mixture of sadness and defeat.

"Tell you what," He bargained, looking not at her but at his half-finished meal, "Once we find them, I'll show you all what happens in the future. I can do that. It has to do with dimensions, the perfect acceleration of speed, crossing over at just the right time. I'll show you because we will have a way to help, I don't want to waste time worrying you when there's nothing we can do at the moment."

Her shoulders fell as another impending wave of anxiety drifted away, anchored by a tiny sliver of hope.

"Any ideas?" Her voice sounded more resolute, now that Barry promised he would show her the future, and they would work on changing it. They would find the Justice League and come closer to putting a stop to all this madness.

The TV, mounted against the wall with a fresh crack across the screen, flashed a special news report.

The anchorman stood in front of the Metropolis Maximum Security Prison, his eyes wide as he covered Breaking News. Lois's head snapped from her to the screen, her eyes wide, listening intently to the reporter's words; the frantic sound of his voice.

The sound of gunfire erupted from the depths of the prison, interrupting the terrified man.

Barry's grin was ear to ear.

"Looks like we found them. Let's go."

* * *

The world's greatest detective."

Batman looked curiously at Diana, whose arms were crossed as she observed him. He had been using an sensor across the cell block to locate any suspicious objects buried beneath the rubble. After walking several feet across Lex's cell, the sensor had beeped loudly. Diana had helped him push the rubble away, using her brute strength to throw the fallen rocks across the hall's empty spaces, removing the heaviest boulders with the help of her lasso, snapping them like twigs through the air.

"That is what they call you, is it not?"

After some hesitation, he nodded. He didn't like to amass acclaim or recognition—his job was simply to defend those in need, and that was all. Very rarely did he get any thanks for it, nor did he want to. Sometimes, those he saved with his detective skills, were the ones he would lock up next.

"I just do my job, Diana. What they wish to call me is up to them."

Diana smirked, her almond eyes alit with amusement, enough to illuminate her beguiling features. He resisted the urge to stare. Instead, his eyes busied themselves with the crime scene, absorbing the entirety of the exposed area.

"They call you a villain, too. A criminal. A dark vigilante. A destroyer. Will they also call me these things?"

Batman weighed his options as he crouched towards the exposed rubble, the sensor continuing to beep insistently. He could lie to the God of War, tell her she would bear no ill sentiment from any human, for she was a woman, and beautiful, and appeared much more righteous in appearance than the Dark Knight ever would. Or, he could be honest, and tell her that no matter her pure intentions, no matter her life-risking efforts, the people would find a way to ostracize and denigrate her, just as they did with every hero that came before, and would come after him.

"No matter what they do," The Dark Knight murmured, his words a careful dip into unknown waters, "Remember why you came. Why you fight. And then it will not matter at all."

The beep had amplified from a steady chirp at five second intervals to an insistent shriek. Startled, Batman dug his hands into the dark space, pulling out a miniature monitor. Diana rushed towards him, eyes wide, as he set the monitor down on the ground. It was outfitted with two knobs and a power button. Carefully, the Amazon crouched next to him, her long hair brushing against his shoulder with her close proximity.

"How do we know it's not a bomb?"

As Diana questioned him, she raised her shield. Batman shook his head in response, knowing from experience that most villains would want to be seen and heard, their agendas made public to elicit wide spread fear. This appeared to be no different.

"If they wanted to blow us up," He reasoned, "They would have done that already. There's plenty of different hiding places here."

The Amazon stared at his masked eyes, her own irises reflecting a multitude of emotions, sealed carefully away by her gallant posture: a trickle of worry, intermingled with hesitation, but overwhelmingly: trust. She trusted him.

"Go ahead and turn it on," Diana urged, her words cementing what he had witnessed in her features.

Batman pressed the red button.

Static filled the screen, crackling for two long minutes, long enough to make him suspect that the monitor was broken, a relic of the guards that had died, accompanying their broken bones and scattered limbs.

A voice perforated the crackling.

"Hello, Batman."

The static cleared to reveal the face of Lex Luthor. Fluorescent light flickered against his bald head, his eyes wide and manic. A sneering smile donned his face as he stared into the camera. Behind him, a fresh spray of blood splashed against the white wall, trickling slowly downwards in rivulets. A guard's scream pierced the silence of the tape; reduced to gurgles and wheezes.

"I thought you would come looking for me, sooner or later. Honestly, I thought it would be sooner, but I don't expect us _all_ to be mad geniuses."

He chuckled, pressing the monitor close to his face, the screams continuing behind him; a soundtrack to his derangement. Diana winced in disgust at the close-up of Lex's face: his bloodshot eyes, the black pupils an empty abyss, his nostrils flared as he spoke, excitedly:

"I _told_ you they would come. I invited them, after all. And now they're here _._ Preparing for _his_ arrival."

His face broke into an ecstatic smile, as if the words he spoke were sacred; reverent.

"Do you miss your friend, Superman?"

His smile became taunting; both cryptic and sadistic.

"Don't worry, Batman." He crooned, pivoting the monitor towards the carnage behind him. Just as they had suspected, an insect towered over a guard, engulfing him entirely in bright flames. Smoke billowed from his body, thick and black. Another insect had overpowered a guard, clawing at his face with razor-sharp nails as he screamed in horror.

"All of this is for the best. To give him a good welcoming. You see, our planet will just be another host. And Superman? I'm sure he's safe...and _sound._ "

Lex emitted a sadistic cackle that rang through the monitor, irritating Batman's ears. He brought the screen close to him again, so that all they could see were his teeth, yellow and dirty:

"You are gods among men. And yet your time has come to fall. Even the most powerful of us all, will perish. We will bow down to another world. We are all statistics of an equation, after all. Of _his equation._ "

Gunshots echoed across the hall, causing Lex to jump in surprise. He stared briefly off camera, then flashed the monitor a reassuring smile:

"That's my queue. Goodbye, Batman! Nice knowing you!"

* * *

The monitor went black. Batman and Wonder Woman stared at one another, their faces perplexed.

"He has Superman!" Diana's voice was a stunned shout in the silence.

The cell block slammed shut. The fastening of the lock echoed across the hall.

Diana rushed towards the door, lasso in hand, rope crackling with electric energy.

Guards stood side by side at the cell block, armored with machine guns far more powerful than typical prison weaponry. They were cocked and aimed straight towards them. Instantly, Diana pulled her shield before her, crouching low in preparation for the attack.

"Diana!"

Her head whipped around as Batman screamed for her—a spray of hot flames shot through the air. She deflected the brunt of the fire with her shield, wincing as slivers of heat burnt the edges of her gloved fingers. The insect hovered nearby, its red eyes feral through its heavy black armor. She watched Batman rush towards it before swiveling around to engage the guards—

A second too late.

As Diana felt flames heat her back, a barrage of bullets shot straight for them.


End file.
